


shades of red.

by lexorcist



Category: Mob City
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, M/M, Serious Injuries, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 03:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexorcist/pseuds/lexorcist
Summary: But the warm colors- the bright colors, the good colors -they don’t last. Because this is not just Ben’s story. It is Sid’s, too, and Sid lives in red. In gray gunsmoke. In the sharp poke of shattered glass and the smell of burning powder. [implied Sid/Ben] [canon].





	shades of red.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladiesyouhate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladiesyouhate/gifts).



A life lived in shades of red-

neon red glistening off of window signs boasting shops open and closed, the softer red glow of the traffic lights as they hang precariously over pooled rainwater on the streets, the stop-and-go of taillights snaking their way out of the bustling city. Red roses poke their heads through thick and thorny bushes that sway in the after-rain breeze. Sid runs his fingers over one as he makes his way up the long and winding walk toward the front door. He considers plucking it, and it pricks his finger in warning. He shakes it off and ignores the red spatter of his blood spraying the bricks below his feet. 

The mood is light inside. The room is filled with warm yellow light as Ben sweeps about in triumph, black-and-white newspaper aloft in a victorious hand. Sid can’t help but smile. Ben is charming, after all, aglow in cool blues and soft golds.

But the warm colors- the bright colors, the good colors -they don’t last. Because this is not just Ben’s story. It is Sid’s, too, and Sid lives in red. In gray gunsmoke. In the sharp poke of shattered glass and the smell of burning powder. 

In blood, pooled like rainwater on the living room floor. Ben’s blood- the watercolor portrait of his warm and happy home bleeding down to a muddled red, red, red that soaks heavy into the thick carpet beneath Sid’s hands. The copper smell of it stings Sid’s nose but he can’t turn away. He can’t look away from the body in front of him, void of color - no pinks or golds or blues, nothing warm left as the red spills out and stains Sid’s groping hands. 

Sid grabs Ben’s arm, almost startles when the skin is cool beneath his sleeve. 

How much time is left? Is there any? 

Sid squeezes Ben and tugs him close, shielding Ben against his chest in a last ditch effort to safe him. The kid is saying something, but Sid cannot hear his words. Sid feels hands on him but he shakes them off, holding tight to Ben’s hollow form. 

“You gotta let go,” the kid keeps saying. He’s wearing a red tie that Sid can only see in flashes out of the corner of his eye. “Let him go,” he says, but Sid can’t. There is red seeping on his shirt and on his jacket and on his skin. Ben isn’t breathing, but Sid cradles his head as if he might start. He whispers apologizes that are too late. “Come on,” the kid keeps saying, and the longer he tugs the weaker Sid’s defenses grow. Ben falls away from him and into the red and Sid wants to scream but he has no voice left, nothing left inside but an ugly feeling that this is wrong, it’s all wrong. “Okay,” the kid says. He’s easing Sid to his feet now. Ben falls further away and Sid wants to fall back to down. He wants to gather him up, to comfort him, to pull him out of all that red. 

“You need a statement,” the kid says, ever the diligent young lawyer. Sid does not answer. He can’t pull his eyes away from Ben. He can’t take his eyes off the red. “Hey,” the kid says. “Look at me.” 

Sid doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to take his eyes away from Ben, but the kid swivels between them and Sid catches sight of that tie- that bright red tie loosened around the kid’s neck. He feels the kid’s hands on him and he forces his eyes to meet Ned’s. 

“Good,” Ned says. “Okay. What’s your statement?”

Sid doesn’t answer. In truth, he can hardly focus.

All he sees is red.


End file.
